


The Good China

by Fuzziestpuppy



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Ajay Ghale: Official King-In-Training, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Like PURE fluff, M/M, Pagan's Bullshit, Post-Canon, Post-Rangoon Ending, State Dinners, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 16:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzziestpuppy/pseuds/Fuzziestpuppy
Summary: God, he loathes these dinners.  They always manage to be hot and boring and he never fails to feel as if he’s being delicately strangled by his tie.  Constantly on edge from wondering if Pagan is going to grin with that sharp-edged way he has and then do somethinginsane.





	The Good China

***

Among the first lessons that Ajay learned in the months after he came to Kyrat was that it was wise to sit right there and eat what was offered, never mind the screams, that it paid to stay the hell out of Yuma Lau’s way, if you couldn’t stay off her radar, and that it was smart to never take Pagan seriously about anything. _He_ surely doesn’t. Even he doesn’t take the bullshit that comes out of his own mouth seriously.

Except, apparently, for one single thing.

“We’ll get you a nametag made up,” Pagan had joked once, in those first months. “‘Ajay Ghale, King-in-Training,’ with a little royal crown on it. How would you like that? Appropriate, I think.” And then had gazed at him in that way he does sometimes, dark and with so much _weight,_ like he has the power to increase gravity around him. “Unless you’d rather it say Ajay Min. It’s entirely up to you.”

And what was he to make of that? Did he mean claim relation, take up the role of his stepson, his heir…or _marry_ him? He hadn’t understood at all what he’d meant, as he stood there and weakly floundered for words.

“One step at a time, yeah?”

Ajay had mumbled it out through lips gone curiously numb and while it wasn’t really an answer at all, it had at least been inoffensive, because Pagan had grinned broadly and clapped him on the back.

Two months after that little incident, after a series of nights of tossing and turning and thinking and _wondering_ about what if, what could be, was he going _nuts_…he’d thrown off the heavy bedspread and marched down the hall to Pagan’s suite and quietly tried the handle.

Not locked. Like it never was. Like it never had been.

At least, not to him.

He had stepped inside Pagan’s rooms, figured out which one was the bedroom door and slid right into bed with him. Had answered his sleepy but not really all that surprised enquiry with his own mouth on his and together they got it all figured out right then and there. With hands and lips and skin on skin, no words necessary.

Afterwards, he had laid there and watched Pagan sleep, his eyes tracing the gentle vulnerability in his face. Such a sharp contrast to the daytime one, a face for him alone. He had reached out and placed his hand on his bare chest, right over his heart, and Pagan sighed his name and moved closer. Seeking him out, already knowing his touch.

_This door was never locked either,_ he thought, Pagan’s heart thudding slow and sure under his palm. He rubbed a little soothing circle with his thumb as Pagan settled against him.

_At least, not to me._

Pagan had actually gone through with his little joke and had that silly nametag made up for him. He had placed it in the carved wooden box he stores his few keepsakes in, and while it still said ‘Ghale,’ unchanged, when he’d moved it with the rest of his stuff into Pagan’s suite six months later, he had thought that might not be true someday.

Like the box, he holds the memory of their first night together in his mind, treasures it and keeps it shined up and holds it close. He does this as a sort of insurance against the days when Pagan threatens to drive him stark-staring crazy. Like today, that memory a talisman to remind him that he doesn’t _actually_ wish to throttle him with his bare hands.

“Is tonight when we’re supposed to be hosting that diplomat fellow from Beijing? Oh, what is his name again...” Pagan snaps his fingers in a fruitless attempt to jog his less than reliable memory.

“Chang,” Gary helpfully pipes up from the next room.

“Yes, that’s it...Chang...thank you, Gary!”

Ajay narrows his eyes. Honestly, he’d forgotten about the whole fucking ordeal. God, he loathes these dinners. They always manage to be hot and boring and he never fails to feel as if he’s being delicately strangled by his tie. Constantly on edge from wondering if Pagan is going to grin with that sharp-edged way he has and then do something _insane._

“You’re not going to do that thing, are you?” He tries to keep the pleading note out of his voice.

“What thing? Darling, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ajay sputters. “That...thing where you embarrass the guests and they can’t decide if it’s an actual slight or if we’re just idiots.”

“No, no, no, of course not! Just a nice dinner. I’ve had the kitchen plan a Cantonese-style banquet and we’ll get out the good dishes and all that. Nothing embarrassing at all!”

Pagan’s smile is bright, genuine, _trustworthy._ Ajay doesn’t buy it for a second.

“What are we having?”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“_Dinner,_ Pagan. What are we actually eating?”

When he fiddles with his earring instead of answering, Ajay hisses.

“I knew it, I fucking knew it! You’re going to serve the rangoon again, aren’t you?”

The look that Pagan throws him is perfectly calibrated, just the right amount of hurt indignation.

“Why, dear boy, did I not promise after that last...hmm, _unfortunate_ incident with the Sultan of Brunei...”

Ajay folds his arms. Pagan looks him right in the eye...and bursts into laughter.

“All right, all right, you’ve got me...but dearest, listen, it’s going to be _fucking hilarious!_ Imagine it now, table laid out like a Chinese state banquet, the antique _guang cai_ porcelain, all fancy fancy...and in the serving bowls,” he sputters laughter, “Crab rangoon! General Tso! And that one with the sauce that looks disconcertingly like ejaculate...”

“Moo Goo Gai Pan,” Gary calls helpfully from the other room.

“Yes, the very one! Ajay, imagine the look on his _face_...”

Ajay rubs at the bridge of his nose, a gesture he suddenly realizes that he probably picked up from Pagan. He lets his hand drop.

“Pagan, could you possibly _not_ for once? Just...”

Oh god. He’s going to pout, he can see it coming. Like a goddamned toddler.

“But Ajaaay,” he wheedles, “it’ll be so _funny._ And, to be fair, they _are_ Cantonese dishes…in a manner of speaking. Sort of. In a…vague American takeout sense. Except for the crab rangoon,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know _who_ in the hell thought that up.”

“He’s going to think you’re a slack-jawed moron.”

“Dear boy, that’s half the _point._ ‘If you’re smart, play dumb.’ That’s what Sun Tzu said! A wise man indeed. Keep them confused. Keep them _guessing._ If he thinks that I’m an airheaded dandy that’s scrambled his own brains with the application of numerous recreational chemicals over the years, _all to the good._ Let them all underestimate me.”

Ajay huffs a sigh. He can see his point, but it’s...

“I know, Ajay,” Pagan says, suddenly serious. “Politics…it’s all pieces on a board, and it can feel as if you’re being toyed with. And I know good and well that you despise that feeling. You might find a different way to play this wretched game in time, but for right now, we’ll cultivate the idea that we’re all backwater bumpkins and that I may have sustained a head injury.”

He slides an arm around his waist and squeezes tight, leans in for a kiss that Ajay returns, only pretending to do it grudgingly. It’s good for his ego, as Pagan nuzzles his nose against his for a tender moment before he pulls back with a big, high-wattage smile, suddenly playful and mischievous again.

“Don’t you worry, Ajay,” he says, low and warm. It never fails to make his heart beat just a tiny bit faster. “I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“Good,” he growls. “And as soon as this guy’s gone, we’re going to bed.”

“But of course! As the King-in-Training commands."

Their days might be filled with an endless parade of budgetary meetings and finance reports and Pagan’s bullshit, his capricious attention only about one-fourth on any individual thing at any one time. Which admittedly doesn’t leave much for him.

But the calm, quiet nights are his, their time alone when Pagan looks at him, touches him like nothing else exists. Their time when they hold each other close, like nothing else matters.

End

***

**Author's Note:**

> As always, questions/comments/ideas welcome and encouraged!


End file.
